'One, Two, Three, Four... Can I have a little more?'
He turned off the radio and thought about the words. His whole life he worked very hard, and now, at this age, he still lives in a small flat on the 27th floor. Every month he had paid a rent for an owner. His job did not give him any possibilities for any promotion. His wife left him and took their children. He could see them once a week.
'Let's change anything,' he thought. 'Maybe to buy a house, maybe not in the city – in the suburbs... why not?'
If he could pass over to a suburb, just ten-twenty miles from the city. He could buy a house small one but bigger than the flat that he had rented in the city and it could be cheaper. He’ll to pay a mortgage just ten years. After that, he will be free for any duties for his wife and children that will become adult.
'But what's meaning living in a suburb?' he thought. 'Let's buy a car, every time to fill it with fuel. And how much money he could spend for it?'
He thought about his shopping that also would be cheaper than in the city but every time let’s drive fair away to the shopping mall and it would take a lot of time. And what about his Job? How much time he’ll spend for driving through hard traffic and the same way come back home? So many questions. He thought again that he could change nothing and just living in the rented flat on the 27th floor and riding on bus or subway, and buying food in a small shop near his house. It was boring.
What happened? Is the whole world turning up against him? No, just something was going wrong in his life. He couldn't understand – what. Does not matter.
Let's listen to another Beatles' song. Maybe it could bring him a different idea.
'We all live in a yellow submarine...'
* * *
It was crazy to dance by 'Yellow submarine' like by any song of 'The Beatles', maybe, because she was born later than 'The Beatles' stopped working together and broke up. It was a playlist in her computer and she changed nothing - 'It could go its way'. She danced with everybody that came to congratulate her with her 40th jubilee.
There were still a few guests now. Somebody left in the English way - 'no goodbye'. She found it better than a dealing like 'Sorry, I have a long way back home', or 'Do you know? My dog still is alone…’ or 'I must get up early morning tomorrow'. To go quietly was more honest – sincere. Anyway, they all left her and every time it was the same – didn’t matter what music was played and how much food was on the table or what delicious drink could be opened. Finally, she stayed alone anyway with her two cats and a big green parrot that she got after the death of her mother.
She had no sister no brother no cousins and she found it normal. Her job gave her everything. She bought a car good one and she lived in a beautiful flat that had enough room for a small family. And with her salary that was not so big at all, she didn't spend money because she was always working and had no other life but work. Her two cats kept each other busy while she had was not at home. She was glad that they didn't eat the parrot. Every day she saw so many people that she recognized but no one of them mattered to her. One face was just like another - just clients - no more.
'Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people...
Eleanor Rigby... '
Music from the computer continued. 'The Beatles' sang again.
The guest who left last, had been her best school friend but he had married her best girlfriend that later became no friend, just like any other person she might happen to see in the street, no more than a stranger was.
It was deep night. She removed everything from the table, washed dishes, and just checked the food in her cats' bowls. Each one ate from its own. 'A pair of egoists', - she thought about them and covered the bird's cage with a black vellum.
‘Waits at the window,
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door.
Who is it for?'
And she felt a depression that never left her for a long time. Let's go to sleep. Early morning she must drive to an office that she hated since she began to work there.
‘Died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came...'
* * *
It was crowdedly on the cemetery. There were every school friends and classmates from a college, where she learned medical nursing. All her cousins were there and her sister. Some people in the army wear also came to say 'Goodbye'. There were three girls and a boy. Everyone tried been delicate with her mother that was wearing in a black dress. Anyway somebody could whisper in the crowd: 'Why she served in the army?' or 'How way did she get to Afghanistan?' or 'What the hell we still doing there? They want there our democracy?' One of her military friends said that it was an accident. Something wrong happened with the hydraulic system and the plane lost control and entered into a hill. Some people survived but not her.
The priest said many words about The God that would carry about her because he has loved everyone in the Earth. Somebody cried. It was the usual funeral ceremony. However, the cemetery workers said that there was not every day so crowdedly here.
Her sister helped her mother to seat into a taxi. The radio played in the cab. The young driver saw that she whipped tears and his hand reached a knob. 'Don't turn off the radio' she asked. 'My husband liked the song so much and insisted on the name of our daughter'. The cabman said nothing. They got out of the cemetery and moved through an old green park. The song had continued:
'Michelle, my belle
These are words that go together well…’
'She was pretty girl,’ mother said. She didn’t cry now. ‘I was sure that I’ll die first, but…’
‘Sorry, Lady, you didn’t say when we’re driven to,’ the cabman said.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said. ‘I have nothing to do at home’.
They turned to Ocean Parkway.
‘Oh, what you mean to me
Until I do, I'm hoping you will
Know what I mean…’
‘She never had understood what I did mean,’ she breezed out. ‘She didn’t hear me when I said: ‘You have enough to do here, maybe in the army…’
The cabman sent her an angry look through the mirror.
‘Red Hook, please, Coffey Street, Louis Valentino Park,’ she said finally.
The song finished and the commercial stuff began.
‘What do you want there?’ the cabman asked.
‘Just good memories, my son, just good memories’
‘But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning…’